


the feelings that we had

by sarenne



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarenne/pseuds/sarenne
Summary: She loved Jaime Lannister for years. She had him for only a few weeks. She lost him in hours. Now she has to move on.





	the feelings that we had

The winter wind bites into Brienne’s skin where only hours, minutes, seconds ago Jaime’s mouth had pressed. She feels bruised. She _is_ bruised, a handprint on her thigh imprinting pleasure into places that undead hands had scrambled to reach. Jaime’s fingers on the soft skin of her arms, his mouth kissing warm heat to her throat, her spine rough with beard scratch. He did more to fight away the frosted touch of the undead than any fire could. And now his prints mix with the wights and they are both dead to her.

She had thought he was a good man. Her stomach aches with it, because she still believes it to be true and that makes her more of a fool than sleeping with Jaime Lannister ever could. He has done so many cruel things, but when she touched him he felt soft and breakable. Maybe that was his trick.

“Stay with me,” she had begged. It stung that his eyes had looked anywhere but at her. Her palms pricked from his beard, the line of his jaw tense as he clenched his teeth with an unspoken goodbye. “Please.”

Already the clatter of horse hooves in the empty courtyard are nothing but a ringing in her ears, and her own voice echoes back at her _please, please, please._

When Brienne was young and boys would laugh, her Septa would pull her by the ear and wipe her face with the edge of her skirt. “No use crying over all the men who will never love you back,” she’d say. “Otherwise you’ll dehydrate.”

Brienne had given up crying a long time ago. Even now her tears freeze where they land on her cheeks. Her teeth chatter and chin wobbles. He has left her pale and weak standing in the empty cold of winter. _She is hateful, and so am I._ Oh Brienne wants to hate him as much as she can for it, even while knowing she could never hate him at all.

She wraps her cloak tightly around herself and takes one last look at the gate where he left. She loved Jaime Lannister for years. She had him for only a few weeks. She lost him in hours. Now she has to move on. 

*

Brienne gives herself an extra hour in the morning. Carefully she puts on her armour piece by piece, until her face is as steely as the metal she is encased in. Jaime had done it for her these last few weeks, once Pod had finally realised her bedchamber was no longer safe. It was a game, his fingers running along her shoulders and slipping down her belly. Endless distractions kissed away with a grin.  

Now when Pod opens the door it is just her, safely stored in her armour. There is no smile in her red eyes.

“Ser,” he says non-committedly. His eyes roam around the room where he sees nothing but her few belongings and a bed already smooth. They flick back up to her and soften. “Jaime was seen riding...”

Brienne pushes past him and out the door. “Yes Pod,” she interrupts. “I assume Sansa requests to speak with me?”

Pod’s strides match hers now. It wasn’t so long ago he would scramble to keep up. Brienne finds she misses the boy he’d been, but the man is gentle. He looks up at her. Touches her wrist where it is bare. “Yes Ser.”

*

There are two guards with Sansa at all times now. They are both women. Rare in Westeros but not in the North and certainly not with Sansa. Some of the older Northerners had grumbled, but the Lady of Winterfell had given them a look. Her face is as blank as her brother’s now, though borne from strategy and not fate. When she turns the corner and sees Brienne walking towards her, Sansa’s eyes harden. It wasn’t that long ago that she too was a little girl that Brienne had to protect. Now she does the protecting. Brienne’s mouth twists.

“My lady,” she murmurs, bowing her head. Pod bows next to her.

“Come, walk with me Ser Brienne,” Sansa says. She shoos away the guards and Pod, and Brienne lets out a breath as they move out of sight. That Sansa still trusts her after this feels like too much.

“This morning our rangers informed me that a man with a golden hand was seen riding South in haste,” Sansa says. She walks with her back straight, neat and precise steps. Brienne is like a giant next to her but now she feels small, whereas Sansa’s presence fills Winterfell. Wasn’t it only a few weeks ago Brienne had fought an army of the dead? It was a life that became more soft and distant every time Jaime kissed her.

“Yes, m’lady,” says Brienne. She can’t look her in the eyes.

Instead they come to a stop overlooking the courtyard. Brienne’s feet stick and she feels every place Jaime touched burning her. Below, the people of Winterfell are still slow and tired as they rebuild. Sansa watches them with a careful eye. They work hard, always for her.

“I vouched for him,” Sansa says. She looks up at Brienne. “For you. I vouched for him _for you_. I thought...”

Brienne shifts. “I did too,” she murmurs.

“He has too many secrets. He knows our strategies. He know our strengths, our weaknesses. He _knows_ Brienne. He can hurt us.” She says it as if Brienne hasn’t thought it all, as if this morning wasn’t spent going round. How can you protect the person you love if he has the power to hurt what little family you have left?

But then...

“He wouldn’t,” Brienne replies. She knows this with a certainty she hasn’t felt since she first removed her own top and let Jaime put his hands on her. She knows _him_ , even if he doesn’t want her to. Even if he pretends she doesn’t. Even if he hates her for it.

Now Sansa looks angry. “He hurt you Brienne. If he can hurt you...”

“He didn’t, m’lady,” Brienne protests, though it hurts to utter the words. “I... he didn’t.” It’s childish even to her ears. Like she’s playing a game of truth and lie, a cup held to her lips and Tyrion Lannister laughing _drink!_

Finally she turns to look at Sansa. The hard pity in her eyes does little to comfort Brienne. “I may have been a Maid,” Brienne says. There is no blush, not anymore. She is cold. “But I am not naive. I knew and I wanted it anyway. I _wanted_ it, don’t you see? Even if I knew what he would do, even when I knew it would always be _her..._ I would have done it anyway.”

“I have to send someone after him. The things he can tell Cersei...” Sansa sighs. She seems regretful as she gazes over her people. “You know I have no love for the Dragon Queen, but a future with Cersei on the throne is no future at all. And he...” Sansa looks up at Brienne. “He will do anything for her, Brienne.”

It’s like a shadow of Jaime laughing back at her. _I pushed a boy out of a tower window and crippled him for life... for Cersei._

“Anything,” Sansa continues. “Even tell her the places _you_ are vulnerable. Even tell her how to hurt you.” She flicks a look to a mark on Brienne’s neck, deep purple. Not to be cruel but to make a point.

“He wouldn’t,” repeats Brienne uselessly. She loves him. He wouldn’t.

Sansa turns away from her. Her red hair is sharp against the black and white of Winterfell, like blood spilled in battle and on bedsheets. “I was going to send _you_ after him,” Sansa says. Brienne feels her heart beat against her breast. Feels it drop to her stomach and the tips of her fingers where they grip her — _his —_ sword. “You’ve done it before, have you not? Caught and kept the famous Kingslayer. For my mother, and now for me.” 

Sansa takes a long look at Brienne. “But no. Nothing good comes from sending my people South. I need you here in case whoever is left decides to come North. We need to be ready.”

Brienne reels as Sansa walks away without her. She is breathless, barely balanced on the ground. She can hear herself gasping in relief and agony.

With a pause Sansa turns back to her. “And Brienne?” She looks at her as if she is a mother and Brienne is her child. Like she is Catelyn Stark in another life, for another man, with a wolf in her eyes telling her _you serve nothing and no one by following him into the grave._ “I am... sorry. I really am.”

 _No use crying,_ Brienne thinks. _You’ll be dehydrated._

“Thank you, m’lady,” she says.

*

Life in Winterfell — like everywhere — goes on.

Brienne gets up at the same time every morning. Pod helps her put on her armour. She does training drills with him and then meets Sansa at the hall for breakfast. She walks with Sansa as she does her rounds, not looking at anyone in the eye. _The Maid of Tarth no more,_ they chuckle. _Guess he likes blondes, eh?_ In the afternoon she trains the Northerners that are left, just in case a Southern Queen decides to take back what is no longer theirs. Then dinner, sometimes with Sansa and Pod, sometimes alone. And then to bed for it to begin all over again. She no longer keeps a fire going. She invites no one to her room. And she feels very little at all.

Sansa receives ravens from the North and beyond the Wall, from the South, from Dorne and from everywhere else. She reads them carefully, sometimes with Brienne and sometimes without. Arya keeps her updated and Brienne pretends not to notice the loss in Sansa’s eyes. But you have to let go of the things you love, even if you know they’re not coming back. That she understands.

When Brienne cannot sleep she walks the walls of Winterfell. Allows herself to feel the terror of that night, watching the lights of thousands of Dothraki scream and disappear into mist. Jaime breathing heavily at her side. His arm touching hers. And Pod on her other side, scared but brave and waiting waiting waiting until.... And then the terror of another night, when she was bare for him to see a second time. This time no steam rising from the bath, no injury, no past secrets for the conversation to hold on to. Only his wine-filled breath and hers and the fire crackling between them and a smirk as his fingers press into her and her gasp and and and...

She cannot remember. So instead she walks the walls. Settles on the parapet and watches serving girls giggle in secret rendezvous with soldiers. Were her and Jaime so obvious when he snuck into her room night after night? It was less than a month they were together but it felt like it could go on forever. Like there were no wars pressing on their walls or taking their people. She tries not to blame Daenerys for losing a battle. Tries not to blame Sansa for telling them. Most of all she tries not the blame Jaime, because it hurts too much.

*

It is more than a month since Jaime rode South and there is little news. Only that Tyrion tried for peace and Cersei beheaded Missandei instead. Sansa looks sick when she tells her. They all know what is coming.

 _Let them burn_ , the Mad King had said. _Let them all burn._

Brienne knows Daenerys only a little but she can sense fire. It burns deep inside her and thousands will feel the flames in no time. She hates that Cersei is doing this to her people. She hates that Jaime is going to let her. When the smoke settles and the ash turns to dust Brienne wonders what will emerge from the flames. She tries not to hope that Jaime is spared.

With the threat from the South rising it is little wonder that Brienne doesn’t notice anything in her own life is amiss. It is only when Pod finds her throwing up into her chamber pot one morning that she begins to suspect the inevitable.

He gently pats her back and whisks away the pot as she crawls back into bed. Her whole body hurts and she feels tired. That alarms her. She was always a sturdy child, never sick and certainly never tired. Even with battle adrenaline running through her veins and bruises littering her body she never felt the weary exhaustion she did now.

“Should I get the Maester for you, Brienne?” Pod asks. He pulls the blanket over her and Brienne glances up at him. Pod looks down at her with a knowing face and man’s eyes. There is no one in the world she trusts more than him, not even Sansa. Not even Jaime.

“I know what the Maester will say, Pod,” she says resignedly. It has been too long since her last bleed. She is young, and Jaime Lannister is arrogantly good at producing children.

Pod nods. He sits down on the side of her bed and says nothing. Brienne stares at the ceiling and lets out a breath.

“What are we going to do?” Pod finally asks. _We._ Brienne loves and hates him for it. Wishes he was someone else and glad that he is not. She is so, so angry.

Brienne grabs his hand so that he looks at her. She refuses to be scared. She is a knight. A warrior. Soon she will be a mother. “Get the Maester,” she tells him. “He can be sure. And then bring Sansa please.”

Pod stands. He looks down at where her hand has come to rest on her belly. “Ser,” he says with a respectful nod. And then he leaves Brienne to fight her tears.

*

With each passing month Brienne’s belly grows and more people die. While Brienne and Sansa hoped for one big battle to put an end to it, the war turns into small skirmishes that add up to thousands. Daenerys tries desperately not to burn the beloved capital in order to win over the people but the flames within her grow.

First it was Missandei. Then the last of her beloved Dothraki troops are wiped out by Euron Greyjoy. Finally Greyworm, Daenerys’ only friend. Sansa receives the news from Tyrion, whose letters get more despairing with every raven. They worry about the state of their Queen. They worry about the people in King’s Landing. They worry about their allies and their enemies. It is heartbreaking to hear the downfall of a woman who wanted love and in the end received nothing but death. Even Sansa admits that she deserved more.

Brienne keeps training. With the Maester watching carefully, her and Pod do practice drills and ignore the taunts of the soldiers around her. When they get too loud she beats every man into the dirt with one hand. They stop laughing and start practicing. A careful and grudging respect grows for a woman who embodies both the Mother and the Warrior. Brienne knows she is just Brienne.

There is no news of Jaime, but she thinks of him as the child grows and kicks inside her. When Sansa creates tiny baby clothes out of soft wool she wonders if Jaime ever had the chance to love a child as his own. If he would stay with Cersei as she birthed another of his little ones and all burn together when the Dragon Queen took the capital.

When she feels angry she beats Pod with a sword. When she feels sad her and Sansa walk the walls of Winterfell. And when she feels love and despair in equal measures she holds her bump and tells her unborn child stories of a warrior mother and father who at the end of it all only wanted peace.  

*

The war ends as Brienne screams on the birthing bed. It is a battle more agonising than any she has fought in before. As she breathes, Sansa holds one hand and Pod the other. The Maester looks at them disapprovingly but says nothing. These people are her family and she needs them. _She needs them_.

Brienne pushes and pushes and pushes. Her nose bleeds and veins in her eyes burst and her body tears as she strains for her baby to make its way into a world filled with the final clang of war.

The baby squalls and Brienne slumps backwards. She tries not to imagine the screams of people dying down South. She tries not to imagine Jaime dying with Cersei. Two perfect twins who could never stop loving each other even though it hurt them and everyone around them.

The Maester places the baby — a girl, _a girl —_ into her arms. She feels her breathe against her chest, smells her hair, the blood, the beauty. How could she produce something so wonderful? How could her body be this strong, do all this?

Sansa wipes Brienne’s hair back. “You fought bravely Brienne,” she says with wonder. Like a battle has been won.

“Yes you did Ser,” says Pod. He can’t take his eyes off the baby.

Brienne can no longer be angry at Jaime. She forgives him. She misses him. She hopes that he finds happiness because he has given her this. Not her life’s purpose, no. That was long fulfilled as a warrior and Knight. But a gift to make it all the more sweet. If a few weeks of being loved by Jaime is all she had then the heartbreak was worth it for _this_.

She breathes in her baby. She just breathes.

*

Cersei is found dead in Jaime’s arms. Her hands are forever frozen in claws and his fingers bleed red from where he strangled her, but they look like two lovers closed in an embrace. The bruises would be beautiful if they weren’t so brutal.

 _He couldn’t let the city burn, even if he wanted to._ Brienne thinks. _He couldn’t do it for her._ Then she stops thinking about it, because the bitter taste of it sticks in her throat. She kisses her child instead.

Daenerys dies in fire. With their leader dead the city turns to chaos and Euron Greyjoy rules like a pirate until he is killed by his own niece. As his troops continue to pillage and slaughter, Daenerys takes her beloved dragon to the sky and wipes out the last of them — but not before an arrow pierces through the red clouds to catch her. She falls into the flames and they accept her with warm embrace.

Jon had long ago mourned for his lover but now he mourns for an Aunt who so desperately deserved to be Queen. He accepts the crown but it rests heavy on his head. Then he names Arya the Captain of his Kingsguard and finally the Starks settle Westeros into peace. The war is over.

*

While Cersei was alive, Jaime could never live. That was the terrible truth of it. So when Brienne looks up and sees him riding through the gates of Winterfell like no time has passed she is not surprised. It was one or the other or both. She is just glad that he didn’t decide both.

Jaime looks haunted. His face is shadowed and tired. There are still scratch marks from Cersei’s desperate attempts at living lining his cheeks. One dips to scar his mouth as if Cersei tried to claim him one last time. He has a child resting in a sling against his chest and Brienne feels her heart shudder and pause.

When Jaime spots her he freezes. His eyes dip away as he slows his horse. Their entire history from start to finish passes through Brienne. She feels it all again — the anger, the hatred, the grudging respect, the admiration, the loyalty, the love. And then the fear, and heat, and passion, and despair and gratefulness. Every emotion laid out flat until she feels breathless and sick.

A baby wails. Behind Brienne, she can hear Pod shushing her daughter. Humming and murmuring in the sudden silence. Jaime's head snaps up at the sound. His eyes are filled with wonder but not surprise. Clearly someone has informed him he is a father of two.

Slowly, he dismounts his horse and hands his — _his and Cersei’s_ — child to another rider. By now, the entire courtyard is waiting as he approaches Brienne. She sees a flash of red hair and knows that Sansa is watching over her people, as always. Watching over her.

Jaime steps forward. He runs a hand over his face. Traces the scars. Finally, finally he looks at Brienne. “I did it...” he chokes on his words. “I did it for you.”  
  
Brienne steps into him. Lets him fold into her body and tries not to feel angry. “No you didn’t,” she says. She feels him shudder. His face pressed to her neck. He is weighed down and she has to be strong when she doesn’t want to be. “You did it for you. And that’s okay Jaime. That’s okay.”

Pod is still holding Brienne _and_   _Jaime’s_ baby. She is making small whimpers. Brienne knows that Jaime will always see ghosts in his two children’s eyes and hopes that they are strong enough to fight them. Brienne will make sure they are. She will make sure her daughter can wield a sword as strong as any man. She will make sure her daughter can laugh without fear. She will make sure her daughter can cry until she is dehydrated, only for Brienne to be there to replenish her again. She’ll make sure she knows that she is so loved. _So loved._ By her mother and her father, she will make sure...

Jaime reels her in and kisses her. It is wet from Brienne’s tears and she holds his face like when he left. His beard is scratchy beneath her palms and her feet are rooted to the ground. Jaime is breathless and despairing as he murmurs _sorry_ and _i love you_ against her lips while she presses into him and whispers  _stay with me, please._ And this time Jaime says _yes_.

**Author's Note:**

> This wouldn't leave my head after episode 8x04. It hasn't been beta-d, so if you spot any mistakes please give me a shout. Feedback is very welcome. 
> 
> The title of this fic is from Cellophane by FKA Twigs.


End file.
